Fortunately, the hotel presidential suite had never been registered under Xie Jinchen’s information. Xizhen International kept a suite reserved for Xie Jinchen year-round.
It was very close to the Xie Group headquarters. If Xie Jinchen ever worked overtime too late, he would stay on the top floor of Xizhen.
Xie Jinchen put his glasses back on. His prescription was not high, only around one hundred degrees.
The thin lenses partially obscured his deep, sharp eyes, lending him a rather refined air.
He instructed in a low voice:
“Look into what happened last night.”
As soon as the words fell, the car door was opened from outside by a servant.
Xie Jinchen buttoned up his loosened buttons and stepped inside with the elegant bearing of a jade tree in the wind.
He Yan: “…?”
Yesterday, He Yan had been sent to a neighboring city on business and still had no idea what had happened.
Uncle Fu looked at his bewildered expression and gave a fake “ahem.”
Watching the young master’s receding figure, he then explained the whole sequence of events clearly, not forgetting to add at the end:
“Absolutely do not let Chairman Xie and Madam know.”
He Yan: “…I know.”
When He Yan heard that the young master had lost his innocence, he felt as if struck by lightning, his face full of shock. He responded dumbly at this moment.
He remained dazed for quite a while.
The Xie family had at least twenty servants. When Xie Jinchen entered, a servant came forward, and he handed over the suit he had taken off.
All of Xie Jinchen’s suits were flown in from abroad at high altitude. The clothes of everyone in the Xie family were handmade and custom-tailored.
The old foreign tailor specifically made custom garments for every member of the Xie family.
His craftsmanship was exquisite, his eye unique, precise down to the wrists and ankles, every detail without the slightest deviation.
Such superior, finely crafted fabric and perfectly tailored suits could not be found on the market.
Xie Jinchen loosened the tie that had been constricting him all day, changed into slippers, and strode into the living room on his long legs.
The television was on. The heart-wrenching cries of the male and female leads blared from the speakers. Xie Jinchen frowned.
He did not understand why Miss Zhuang always loved watching this stuff. Was life too comfortable for her?
Xie Jinchen looked at Madam Xie, Zhuang Yining, sitting on the solid wood sofa, enjoying herself immensely. Melodramatic TV dramas were her absolute favorite.
No one would believe it if told: the mistress of the illustrious Xie family, dignified and affluent in appearance, her skin maintained to look ten years younger than her peers, yet she loved watching melodramatic love-triangle TV dramas.
Xie Jinchen unhurriedly sat down on the single sofa not far from her and gently reminded:
“Miss Zhuang, could you turn the volume down a bit?”
The television volume was truly loud. Madam Xie had long noticed her eldest son had returned.
She was used to ignoring him and did not listen to him at all.
In the Xie family, Madam Xie was the one in charge. None of the three children dared to shout at her.
It was not that they did not dare—it was respect. After all, if they dared show even a hint of dissatisfaction or perfunctoriness toward Miss Zhuang,
their father—who always said one thing and meant it, authoritative yet never angry, and henpecked—would make them kneel in the ancestral hall for days, copying nearly ten thousand words of scripture.
Even though he had been abroad for the past three years, he was fully aware of every big and small matter at home.
The number of times Xie Jinming and Xie Jinshu had copied scriptures was countless.
It was fortunate he was abroad; otherwise, he too would have found it hard to escape several calamities.
Xie Jinchen could not say anything, but he could act.
He grabbed the remote control and with a “click” turned off the sound.
Xie Jinchen crossed his legs, pretending nothing had happened, and leaned forward as if nothing were amiss,
picking up a fresh seasonal orange from the table and peeling it open with a deft touch of his fingers.
Sure enough, Miss Zhuang’s familiar, clamorous roar came:
“Xie Jinchen! Are you trying to rebel? What are you doing turning off the TV? Turn it back on.”
Xie Jinchen peeled an orange, tore off a segment, and put it in his mouth. The juice was rich, the taste refreshing.
She was somewhat like that girl from last night.
He rested his elbow on his leg, looking utterly unruffled, and spoke lightly:
“Calm down, Miss Zhuang. Don’t work yourself into a fit. The TV was too loud and disturbed me.”
His voice was unhurried, his posture lazy and arrogant.
His fingers rolled up his sleeve, revealing a stretch of beautifully shaped, lean arm.
His hand carelessly broke apart the fruit segments, his manner leisurely, carrying the relaxed air of a wealthy young master.
A far cry from the courteous, noble, and modest image he presented to the outside world.
Zhuang Yining grew angry at the sight of Xie Jinchen like this.
“What do you mean it disturbed you? You’re just putting on an act, Xie Jinchen.
You’ve gotten bold just because your dad isn’t home. As your own mother, I have to give you a piece of my mind—your easy days are coming to an end. Your father is coming home tonight and has something important to announce.”
Xie Jinchen didn’t much care. What did she mean, his easy days were coming to an end?
He’d heard these words so many times his ears had nearly grown calluses. It was nothing more than them wanting him to go on blind dates—nothing else.
Xie Jinchen gave a soft snort, pulled out a wet wipe, and cleaned his hands, sticky with orange juice, one finger at a time, the knuckles sharply defined.
“Stop worrying over nothing. You’re just busying yourselves with useless things.”
Zhuang Yining was about to say more when a steady, powerful voice cut her off:
“Is that how you talk to your mother? What do you mean, useless? You’ve been abroad for three years—if you’d brought me back a daughter-in-law, your mother and I wouldn’t say another word.”
Chairman Xie had returned.
Zhuang Yining’s eyes lit up. She quickly stood, walked over, and hooked her arm through her husband’s elbow, full of grievances:
“Xie Jingsheng, you’re finally back. Your son is hogging the TV and won’t let me watch. He’s been back less than a month and already finds me annoying—the moment he got home he turned off my TV.
I finally found a drama I’m interested in to pass the time, and he won’t even let me have this one little pleasure. I don’t dare even breathe too loudly. Don’t you think Young Master Xie is going too far!”
Xie Jingsheng’s gaze suddenly turned intimidating as it fell on his eldest son, sitting there so unruffled.
Xie Jinchen: “…”
He was long used to this. Thank goodness Xie Jinming and Xie Jinshu weren’t here, or his ears would have exploded.
He sighed, patiently turned the sound back on—just a bit lower than before.
He called out “Dad,” and was about to slip past them and head upstairs for a shower.
Xie Jingsheng ignored his wishes and directly called out to Xie Jinchen, who was just about to step onto the stairs.
His voice brooked no argument, carrying a hidden sternness:
“Wait a moment. Come here, I have something to tell you.”
Zhuang Yining tilted her chin at him, pulled Xie Jingsheng down onto the sofa, and the two of them assumed the imposing stance of a united front pressing for an audience.
Xie Jinchen pinched the bridge of his nose, somewhat helpless. When all was said and done, it was still that same topic.
He walked over and sat back down, legs slightly apart, his posture even lazier than before, though his hands never stopped moving.
Brewing tea.
His jade-fan-like knuckles held the teacup, his movements unhurried.
He first scalded the tea leaves with hot water, then poured it out again.
Xie Jingsheng watched him brew tea for him with his usual practiced ease, and an indescribable comfort filled his heart.
His eldest son was good in every way—whether in how he conducted himself or his work ability, he was among the very best of his peers.
Whenever he went out to social engagements and heard others praise his son without any attempt to hide their admiration,
he would modestly brush it off verbally, but inwardly he felt quite proud and pleased.
Not only that, even when he had sent him abroad for nearly three years of advanced study,
Xie Jinchen had never once complained, and now he managed the company in perfect order, even surpassing him in skill.
At the end of the day, he still felt for his son—nearly thirty years old and not even a girlfriend to his name. He had no choice but to take a firm hand and make the decision for his son.